Minutes
by spyceberri
Summary: The mission was over the moment they had walked into the arena and stared at the same glass she fights behind, but there isn't a word to describe what they landed in. Now, to ensure the survival of the ones she loves, Lucy is forced to step up to the plate in a game where she doesn't have the tools to win and the only true enemy is time. (NaLu)(M)
1. Chapter 1

**Spyce here, starting off a new short story!**

 **This started off as a little irritation between me and Berri about the fact that when Natsu and Lucy get into trouble (or captured, but yeah), Natsu is always the one who ends up fighting for their freedom. We decided to play out a scenario where Lucy is put on the spot instead while Natsu is incapacitated via dark magic or similar shit.**

 **Just FYI: this stuff could end up pretty dark. We have no idea where this'll end up taking us, but it's a solid M for a reason. Expect everything and nothing.**

 **We hope you enjoy this little starter bit! Review to tell us yay or nay, k? Berri should be uploading the next chapter, but it could be me again. Heh.**

 **\- Spyce**

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Her fist curls out of habit. It snaps into position without any real direction from her, aligning with her forearm so that when her knuckles collide with her opponent's nose, it doesn't hurt. She follows through on her punch and brings her knee up. It sinks deep into her opponent's stomach, crunching through the lower ribs, and the man screams.

His scream is high-pitched and desperate. She hates the sound, hates the way it makes her blood boil even though she knows it is wrong, and brings her arm around again. The man doesn't see it coming through his tears. Her bloody knuckles slam into the strong line of his jaw with all the force her small, feminine body can offer and something cracks.

The next scream is mangled and she realizes that she broke his jaw. It's her first time. She knows the flicker of happiness is wrong, that it brands her a monster, but she can't bring herself to care. Maybe she will be rewarded for her accomplishment. Maybe tomorrow there won't be as many enemies behind the glass or maybe they will let her fight someone smaller. Someone who won't take so long to fall.

Maybe they will let her have more time with her partner.

The man opens his bloody lips and croaks, his voice broken. She only shakes her head. He just has to give in and the fight will be over. Unlike him, she doesn't have the option of losing. She slugs him in the stomach. Her aim is perfect and his screams echo around her, bouncing from the glass and burrowing in her ears until the screaming is all she can hear.

A sharp kick to his throat is enough to win. She knows she didn't have to push her hip like that, that a clip to the temple with the side of her hand would've been enough, but she has to show that she can. It's stamina day, after all. She needs to gain strength because the next Round will be harder, and no one will wait for her to catch her breath.

The grass cracks open and a man walks in. Muscles bulge on his wide frame, straining his clothes. His white surgical scrubs are painted red and his face is hard. He picks up the loser, nods to her once, and leaves. She stretches her lips in a mad grin, just like she is supposed to. The glass clicks shut and she is left alone, her strained reflection judging her from a pool of blood.

Somewhere above her, speakers crackle as they come to life. She tilts her head back and tries to find them, but the lights are too bright and too many. All she sees is white.

 _"_ _T twenty seven,"_ the voice says. She thinks it's a recording – it sounds almost metallic – and she has no reason to believe otherwise.

Twenty seven minutes. She doesn't know how many men have left their blood on the cement floor, but twenty seven is two minutes less than yesterday. A shaky laugh bubbles in her throat and she chokes on it. Two minutes gone with seventeen more stretching out behind them.

The glass moans. Water spills from the light above her, gliding down the glass and washing off the blood. She watches it slide in breathtaking ripples, so graceful and effortless as it destroys the evidence of what she'd done. It doesn't care that she broke a man's jaw. It only drips over the copper frames holding the glass in place and splatters against the cement. When there's enough of it, she crouches and washes off her hands.

One of the panes glosses over. A floating screen flickers into focus and she watches herself duck under a muscle-packed punch. Her fist unclenches, adjusting its shape to protect her thumb, and before the man can find his balance she's behind him, the flat of her hand at the back of his neck. He falls and doesn't get up. The screen flickers again and moves on.

Something hot and ugly boils in her chest. She watches her own face change, always shifting to apply a fresh mask that will hide her revulsion and her pain. She knows how much it hurt to take that punch to her stomach but on the screen it doesn't show and she wants to smile. Her armor is building.

Suddenly, a tear catches the light. It sits at the end of a wet trail on her cheek and she reaches up to touch it, but it's no longer there. Still, as the recording moves on and she reduces another self-assured man to a bloody, mangled scream, all she can see is the tear. She wants to reach into the screen and rip that tear off her face.

It won't matter that she broke her first jaw because she cried. She knows the rules. To cry is to break those rules. There won't be a reward; instead, there will be punishment.

Fear clenches her lungs until she can't breathe and suddenly, all she needs is to go back to her rooms. She needs to see that he's still alive, that they haven't done anything to him. She turns her back on the screen and stumbles a little as she crosses the arena. The glass opens for her without a sound.

The men waiting for her are all dressed in black robes, their faces covered by a free-falling square of white. They surround her as the doors ghost shut behind her and she waits, her hands fidgeting with her impatience. After a moment of heavy silence, the tallest one speaks.

"Better," he says. "Twenty seven for eighteen. The tally stands at four hundred and one to fifty three."

She doesn't say anything, but her gut churns.

Without another word, the man who spoke turns and walks away. The rest follow him, forming a circle around her to tether her to them. She knows she isn't allowed to touch them, so she limps with them, her breathing ragged as the adrenalin trickles out of her system. Pain licks through her hip. Her shoulders are heavy with stiffness and her throat is raw. She lifts her fingers to prod the curving bruise on her neck.

It was stupid to take that hit.

The men pause at a plain wooden door with a small, barred window stretching across the top. The frame is lines with steel and a thick steel X glares at her from the dull grey wood. The word "Heartfilia" is scribbled across the center of the X in curly handwriting. She waits for one of the men to open the door before bowing her head and sliding past them into her room.

The door doesn't have time to fully close before she's running through the lavish sitting room and marble-covered kitchenette to her bedroom. A large four-poster bed faces heavy burgundy curtains. Desperation forms an incoherent noise as she struggles to open the curtains, silently screaming at the heartless bastard that had closed them again.

The curtains whisper teasingly as they glide open, baring a wall of thick glass. A flash of green light blinds her for a moment and she blinks rapidly to clear her vision. Lights mean that he's not alone anymore and she needs to reassure herself that he's still breathing.

Only two people are in his cell this time. One of them is a woman with pale purple skin and hip-length black hair styled in a haphazard mess. She picks at her black nails and adjusts the strap of her black bra, her other hand holding a pulsing ball of dark purple energy. The other one is a small man with a wispy build and vivid green hair, shrouded entirely in a white fur-lined cloak. He just stands there, watching, his narrow face impassive.

She slams her hands against the glass. The woman sends her a bored glance and raises an eyebrow, taunting her with the knowledge that there is nothing she can do. She curls her hands into fists and screams for them to stop, her voice hoarse. Agony rakes through her throat but she ignores it and screams again. The woman smiles and flips her hand, letting the ball of magic fall to the floor.

Her scream dies on her tongue as she watches, her body numb and hurting. The ball breaks and streaks of dark purple skitter across the floor. When they reach him, they coil around his limp form like snakes and vanish. His eyes fly open. He writhes uncontrollably, his lips peeled back in a strained snarl, and tears spill down her cheeks. She doesn't wipe them away. Her knees give out and she crumples to the floor, unable to look away and hating herself for watching.

It is her fault that he is hurting.

If she had been stronger, none of this would have happened.

A sob shakes her shoulders as his writhing winds down to nothing. She watches the woman tilt his face with the edge of her sleek black shoes before both she and the narrow-faced man leave, but her mind drifts. Panic grips her as she realizes she doesn't remember what his voice sounds like. His screams fill her ears instead, full of pain and rage, and she leans against the glass.

It doesn't take her long to regain control. She steels herself and struggles to her feet. There are seventeen minutes left until she fulfills her end of the bargain. She knows that she shouldn't trust the enemy, but she also knows that her enemy is a businessman by the nature of his magic. He is bound to the promises – the deals – he makes. Once she delivered, so would he.

She uses the walls to support herself as she makes her way to the kitchenette. Three rolls of compressed ice wait for her in the freezer and she wraps two around her hip. A meal sits on the corner counter: beans and rice with a few strips of defrosted chicken. She moves the plate to the thin glass table and props her leg up.

The ornate clock above the fireplace loses two hours by the time she gives up, half the food untouched. She can't make herself swallow and her stomach rolls with every bite. Bile closes off her throat. She doesn't know when they feed him – _if_ they feed him – and she hates herself for having so much more than him. She has comfort, food, and medicine while he has nothing but pain every time she fails.

All she has to do is cut seventeen minutes. She needs to take less time on each opponent. Suddenly, she regrets turning her back on the recording. She needs to know what she wastes time on and now she won't have another chance until the next fight.

"Lucy?" a soft voice mumbles, its pitch almost childish. She twists in her chair, hissing as pain explodes in her hip. Happy lands on the table with a soft thud. Big black eyes move from the new bruise on the corner of her jaw to the one of her neck. His wings vanish with a small shudder.

"Two minutes down, Happy," she says. She doesn't think she's ever heard herself so resigned.

"Seventeen to go?"

She tries to smile as she nods. "Seventeen to go."

"What happened?"

Her smile crumbles to dust and he winces, his eyes apologetic. She knows why he asked. Even though she has become far more alert, her hearing could never be as good as his. She isn't cursed to hear the screams every time she fails.

"I cried again," she says. "I didn't even notice until the recording."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

She doesn't apologize because he doesn't expect her to.

Suddenly, he sniffs and says, "I wanted to say sorry for teasing you so much. You know, before this . . ."

He trails off. She is thankful that he doesn't finish the sentence. The mission was over the moment they had walked into the arena and stared at the same glass she fights behind, but there isn't a word to describe what they landed in. It hurts her, though, to know that Happy had finally matured only because the ends of their lives seem to hang by the last thread.

She hates being the one holding the scissors.

"Thank you, Happy. That means a lot to me."

He nods and sniffs again. She offers him the rest of her food. He picks at it just like she had and pushes it away.

Silently, she scoops him up and hugs him, holding on as though he is going to disappear. He clings to her just as tightly, his claws digging into her skin, but she doesn't care. They both need this. Even though she wants something different, she still needs to reassure herself that there are things worth fighting for.

"I started the bath," he mumbles against her chest. Bile rises in her throat again and she swallows it down. She can't make herself get into a bath when the luxury it implies repulses her so much.

"I'll be fine."

"Okay. Sleep?"

She laughs. It's a pathetic, brittle sound, one so weak that the faintest breeze could tear it apart.

"Sure."

Once he falls asleep, a ball of blue fur under thick burgundy covers, she crawls out of the bed and sits in front of the glass. Her body moans in protest. Massaging her hip, she watches her partner as he claws his way to consciousness and sits up, using the grey wall for support. His eyes flick over to her and he tries to smile. Pain twists his features into a grimace.

She can't imagine how much he is hurting.

He raises his hand and glides it over thin air as though petting a cat. She replies to the silent question with a hesitant thumbs up. Relief spills from the barely noticeable sigh that shifts his shoulders, but when his eyes meet hers again, she knows that it isn't enough. It's in his nature to protect what he loves. Being forced to watch his family deteriorate as they fight for _him_ is hard when he would rather take the brunt of the pain onto himself.

She knows that if their places were reversed, he would've cut seventeen minutes a long time ago.

Their enemy knew that too. Their places weren't reversed because he had known that her partner was the fighter between them. The expected doesn't draw the crowds. Nobody would come to watch the Salamander throw his opponents around, because it is bound to happen. People pay money to see what they do not expect, to be surprised by the turn of events. Her victory is the surprise they hunger for and she is in no position to refuse.

He asks a few more questions. She answers all of them but one. She can't answer his last question without lying, so she glances at the clock. They have less than a minute left. Her fingers are at her lips when the lights go out but she blows him a kiss anyway, not caring that he won't see it.

Every line of his exhausted face is burned into her mind, pushing her to get up and keep going. She holds her hip as she struggles to her feet. Gripping the bed for guidance, she finds her way back to Happy and curls up on top of the blankets.

She hates the color burgundy and she hates glass, but more than anything, she hates herself.

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 **Boom!**

 **Anyways, review! Tell us what you think, because if you don't, we can't improve!**

 **XOXO,**

 **Spyce & Berri**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is Berri speaking!**

 **So you've all met Spyce last chapter, and now you get to deal with me. Awesome. I like honeycrisp apples with peanut butter. Anyone else?**

 **We got super awesome reviews for the last (first!) chapter! Thank you to BrennaCoris, Forbidden-Hanyou, idevourbooks, ThatOneFriend-3, and CloudySkies2208 for taking the time to review!**

 **All I can say is please, _please_ review! Silence tells us absolutely nothing: love, hate, or eh? As much as I wish I could read minds (I can't)...**

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 **We've decided it's gonna be a more relaxed timeline for this fic - so it'll be less day-to-day and more event-to-event. I think. We might change up sometimes...**

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 **Enjoy!**

 **\- Berri**

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The words of her enemy do not register right away. They hang in the white cloud that is his breath, pulsing and crackling, threatening to tear her into pieces. She stares at them with wide eyes and knows that there is no way she will be able to agree with what they are saying.

"No," she says, surprising even herself. It has been so long since she has done anything but nod.

"I think this deal is better than our previous." He smiles. "You kill one fighter and I give Fairy Tail your coordinates."

"I can't _kill_ someone!" she snaps, her voice hysteric. He leers at her through the glass and she wants nothing more than to break it.

"You can and I am assured that you will. "

She knows he is right.

"Your last opponent almost died," he says off-handedly. "If you had hit just a little bit harder, his rib would have gone through his heart. He would have been dead before he left the arena."

Her breath sticks in her throat and she chokes. Panic clenches her lungs until she is sure they aren't bigger than golf balls. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think, and she wonders why she even bothers anymore. It would be so easy to simply say no, to decrease her worth until it is more beneficial to kill her than to keep her alive, but she knows that no force on Earthland can pull the refusal from her lips if her enemy lists the right terms.

"You will kill your next opponent, or I will kill the Salamander. If you refuse, I will kill the Salamander. When either you or your opponent is dead, I will evacuate my operation and send the coordinates of this location to Fairy Tail. That is the deal."

A handprint glows on the glass. She stares at it uncomprehendingly and raises her hand. Something in her cracks as her palm connects with the print, something she can't live without but also something she can no longer keep.

She thinks it might be her heart.

"The contract is sealed. Return to the arena for your last fight."

Her feet move on their own and her body follows them only because it has no other choice. Her last fight. She will never have to fight again. Fairy Tail will find them and she will be able to go home. She will be able to hear her partner's voice and feel his touch. She will pick up all the pieces of herself that she can find and try to seem as though nothing has changed.

She will continue to live, a murderer in the skin of Lucy Heartfilia.

There are no men in black robes to escort her this time. The glass doesn't make a sound as it slides open and she steps into the arena, her body no better than a rock. The lights turn on with a thundering click, bathing the arena in harsh light. The cement is clean of blood but the smell hangs in the air, filling her nose and coating the roof of her mouth. She swallows and truly sees her opponent for the first time, her palms sweaty as they curl into fists.

Her opponent is a woman.

An unstable laugh bubbles on her lips. Of course her opponent is a woman. She had broken a jaw, after all, and fighting a woman means less brute strength. It is her reward.

 _"_ _One minute,"_ the speaker crackles. She stares at the woman, judging her, completely unconcerned about the sudden time limit. Time is not a problem. She had been working on her speed and her usual time is down eleven minutes. If her enemy had waited, she would have cut those last six minutes and her partner would have been free.

The woman's features are plain; they are so indistinguishable that if the woman simply walked away, she wouldn't remember her even if they stood face to face. There are no scars, no marks or traits that would make her unique. Her eyes are grey, like the cement under their feet, and utterly empty.

She takes a step forward and the woman seems to come alive, her very breath aggressive. She takes the first punch, rolling into it, and retaliates with a two quick punches to the stomach. The woman grunts and kicks out, catching her in the ribs. Something crunches but the pain is swallowed by the energy pumping through her limbs. She breathes out and aims. Her fist collides with the woman's solar plexus.

The screaming rings in her ears. She rushes forward and attacks again, putting more force into behind her blows. Her minute is running out. The soft tick of every second tolls in her head. She doesn't need to count them; she simply knows that they are almost over.

Choices filter through her mind. She refuses to choke the woman. She knows how painful and terrifying it is to slowly fade from consciousness and she will not do that to someone else. But she doesn't know how to kill someone.

Her stomach churns at the idea of actually _killing_ someone.

She twists and takes the next punch to her shoulder. The muscles in her hip and back scream. Suddenly, she realizes that she can't. She can't take someone's life and she doesn't know how. She doesn't know how to make the heart stop beating or how to make it painless. She doesn't know if she will be able to live with herself, knowing that she killed someone with her bare hands.

Her guard drops. The woman doesn't pause, striking through every opening there is. She screams as nails rip into her skin, digging far deeper than they should be able to. Cold hands close around her bad knee and jerk. Another scream tears from her throat. Her body can't produce enough adrenalin to mask so much pain. White-hot agony destroys her with every breath she takes.

If she can't kill the woman, the woman will kill her.

The minute never ends. The speakers are silent. She wonders if she simply didn't hear them over the screaming in her head, but it doesn't matter. Unless she stands up, there won't be an end for anyone but her.

Dying hurts. She had always imagined death as painless, something akin to falling asleep and never waking up. But she can't fall asleep while her body is burning from the inside out. She can't close her eyes for fear of the darkness and fear for her partner. If she dies, what will happen to him? Will her enemy truly let him go?

Need sends just enough power to her muscles to allow her one last exertion. She blocks the next hit and wraps a leg around the woman's calf, using her free heel to thrust against the side of the woman's knee. The kneecap shoots out of place, clamped down by bruised skin, and the woman shrieks as she stumbles back and falls. Her head hits the floor with a harsh, resounding crack.

She melts against the cement. The attack had taken everything she had and her body is too tired to scream. It simply throbs in silence. Somewhere above her, unnaturally loud thunder shakes a ceiling she can't see. The lights flicker and go out with a loud screech, punctuated by a burst of sparks. When the pain she is expecting never comes, she lifts her head enough to see that the woman is gone, but she doesn't have enough life in her to wonder why.

She just wants to sleep.

Black swirls in her vision. Every breath stings her lips, keeping her tethered to reality, and when she swallows, all she tastes is blood. She hates it. She sweeps her tongue across her teeth and tries to spit, but it morphs into a cough that awakens a jarring pain in her chest. Around her, the glass creaks and shatters all at once, raining down in little flickers of light. Fire carves thin lines into her skin.

She moans as she rolls onto her stomach, wincing, before tucking her legs under her and pushing to her feet. She has to get to her partner. The glass shattering has to mean that the fight – the operation – is over. Her enemy is gone and they are free to go.

The wall trembles under her palms as she stumbles through the empty halls. For the first time, she realizes that the walls are wood painted to look like metal while the floor is actual tile. It takes only a few shaky steps to realize the tile is cheaply made. She smiles at the contrast between the lavish, golden auditorium and the poorly made wings.

Her legs give out at the last turn in the hallway. She gasps as her knees crack against the tile and forces herself to crawl towards the plain grey door a few feet further than the one that leads to her rooms. She has to believe that everything will be alright if she can just open that door because if she doesn't, she knows she will fall apart.

Tears drip onto the tile. She blinks at them, confused and unsure of how long she had been crying. Are there still rules? Will they hurt him if they see the tears in her eyes?

She wipes the tears away, blinks to clear her eyes, and reaches for the handle. The lock opens with a gentle click. Her fingers release the cold metal and she tumbles onto her elbows with a quiet gasp of pain. There isn't a single part of her that isn't pulsing with agony. Tears glide down her cheeks even though it hurts to blink, to sniff, and to breathe.

"Lucy!"

Small, furry arms wrap around her neck in a careful hug. She only groans, struggling to push coherent sounds past her lips. The pounding of her heart is a roar in her ears. It takes everything she has to lift her head and look around

"Wh . . . Where's . . . Natsu?"

Her eyes snap to his unmoving body before Happy even has the chance to open his mouth. The rest of the unadorned cell fades, leaving only her partner lying limp in front of the glass wall she hates so much. She surges forward with a harsh, gut-wrenching sob but trips over her own feet, landing hard on her wrist and scrambling across the tile to reach him. Her fingers shake as she searches for any sign of life: a breath, a heartbeat, anything. Her lips tremble, forming words she barely understands, and the fear threatens to suffocate her until all she can do is cry.

He has to be alive. There has to be a heartbeat in his chest because if there isn't, she doesn't know what to do with herself. She doesn't know how to keep going if he isn't there with her, pushing her forward. He is far more essential to her happiness than he thinks and she has no greater fear than living without him.

A spark of black sizzles on his skin. She acts without thinking: her fingers curls around the spark, ripping it away from him and throwing it aside. It clings to her instead. Before she can blink, it melts into her palm and sends a hard pulse of sheer power through her body, burning her nerves until she loses her grip on her sense of touch. Another pulse shatters her hearing and another leaks into her eyes, painting the world crimson. The stench of blood fills her nose.

She cries out as her body crumples, unable to do more than whimper while everything around her drips blood. There is blood in her hair, on her skin, and under her fingernails. It pools in her mouth and trickles from her nose. The floor is a river of red while the blood running down the walls and dribbling from the ceiling makes her stomach lurch for her throat. She screams again, desperate. Only the voices in her head answer, all screaming and screaming until she doesn't know anything else.

When her fingers reach for her partner and find nothing but empty air, something in her breaks.

The blood swallows her whole.

She screams.

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 **Ooooh...**

 **Anyways, review! Tell us everything! Don't forget to say what you think of apples and peanut butter! ;)**

 **XOXO,**

 **Berri 'n Spyce**


	3. Chapter 3

**Spyce is back! Well, Berri is here too, but yeah. You're dealing with me this time around. :)**

 **Alrighty, so we're going to try to make the chapters longer from here on out. So sorry for how short the last chapter was.**

 **Thank you to lady lutka and Guest for reviewing! We're gonna start answering reviews at the end, so if you've got questions, don't hesitate to ask.**

 **Enjoy! Please, plz, please review to let us know how we're doing!**

 **\- Spyce**

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She wakes up because she is warm.

Her breath stutters in her chest but she stays absolutely still. The beating of her heart is almost as loud as the screaming in her ears and she winces when her head gives a sharp throb. She can only handle so much never-ending noise.

Slowly, she works her way through each of her senses, careful to keep the pain at bay. She is lying on her side – her bad side, which surprises her – and the fiery throbbing from a hit she shouldn't have taken has settled as a dull ache. A wisp of a breeze crawls along her spine. She shivers, faintly wondering why there is a breeze at all.

But the warmth at her front is alive. If she holds her breath, she can hear its steady breathing and a very faint, rapid heartbeat. Something wonderful and familiar fills her nose, something she was convinced she would never smell again. She opens her eyes and smiles, dragging her fingers across the cheap tile until they can curl in her partner's scarf.

It is as thick and soft as she remembers.

She ignores the agony overflowing from her hip and spilling through her leg in favor of scooting closer to him. She isn't sure why she was allowed to visit him or why she is still with him even though it seems clear that she had stayed long enough to fall asleep, but she can't bring herself to dwell on what she doesn't understand. The mere idea of thinking and remembering requires energy she doesn't have.

She nestles as close to him as her injuries will allow, her forehead pressed against his collarbone and her good leg fitting neatly under his. Her hands fold against his chest. She breathes in the woodsy smoke and spice that is all uniquely him and sighs.

The silence presses down around her. There are no faint beeps, no buzzing behind the walls. There are no screams other than the ones inside her head, but she knows how to distinguish what rings in her ears from the rest. The lack of noise tells her there is no one around them; she refuses to believe it and waits for her visit to be over.

Her partner stirs with a quiet groan. She tilts her head back and blinks at him, awakening an ache in her shoulders. He looks at her with hazy, half-open eyes, almost as though he believes she is part of a pleasant dream and if he wakes up enough, there will be a wall of glass between them again. She traces the line of his jaw with her nose and presses a hesitant kiss to the corner of his mouth. Maybe she's the one dreaming; it's about time she be woken up, even though she doesn't want to.

He smiles against her lips and curls an arm around her shoulders, pulling her so close that she is smothered against him.

For the first time since their mission ended, she is happy. There is absolutely no other place where she would rather be, even if they are lying on cold, cheap tile, both too injured and shaken to do more than simply take in each other's presence. Her body protests against his hard embrace but she snakes an arm around his waist and hugs him back. He sighs, relieved; she melts against him.

She knows they will be pulled apart soon, but they are together and they are alive. That is all that matters.

"Hey," she whispers, her voice strained and hoarse. Her throat complains and she fidgets until one arm has enough room to prod at the bruise on her neck. She frowns. She doesn't remember where the bruise had come from.

"Hey," he says. "What happened?"

Happy had asked her the same thing after the fight was over. She had cut two minutes from her time. There had been seventeen left. She had broken a man's jaw, too.

Was this the reward?

"I'm not sure," she rasps, her confusion mounting. This can't be her reward because she remembers seeing the tears on the recording; there should have been a punishment. But maybe time with her partner – without any glass between them – is punishment in its own way. It will hurt more if she has to leave him again.

The same breeze tickles her spine again. Something soft brushes against her back. She bites her tongue to hold down any pain and uses her free arm to lift Happy over her body. He remains sound asleep even as she all but drops him between her and her partner, his whiskers twitching slightly as he rolls closer to the warmth.

She smiles at her partner, silently willing her body to stop aching.

She hadn't killed the woman with the grey eyes.

Her smile freezes. The woman with the plain features and the grey eyes had never finished the fight. It had been the last fight, and after she had popped the woman's kneecap, the woman had vanished. She had been ordered to kill the woman or die by her hands. Neither had happened, yet there was no follow-up. There were no men in black robes and there was no enemy.

Had the enemy evacuated his operation as a precaution, to make sure he wasn't caught red-handed by an enraged guild? Had he taken care to ensure not a single clue was left behind? Had he already sent their coordinates? Had they been sent at all?

Had he even watched her last fight to see who would die?

Did he care?

Warm fingers glide across her cheek. "Luce?"

She shakes off the uneasiness that clings to her thoughts and meets her partner's eyes. His skin is slightly paler than she thinks it should be. There are shadows under his eyes and she regrets making him worry when he is so tired.

"I'm okay," she rasps. After a hesitant pause she adds, quietly, "I think we won."

She can't account for anything, but she places her belief in the irrational hope that since no one has pulled her away to fight again, there _is_ no one there but the three of them. It makes sense.

"Yeah. You broke the wall," he says, a faint note of humor in his voice. She doesn't bother turning to look; it would hurt far more than it is worth.

"Really?"

He snickers. It's a dry sound, with only the softest hint of the energy that used to fill every single thing he did.

"Oh yeah," he says, glancing at something behind her before returning his eyes to hers. "There's a big hole where the door used to be."

She tries to laugh, but it stutters in her chest and suddenly she's coughing, choking on a sob that refuses to leave her mouth. There are tears in her eyes and all she can think about is that she shouldn't have left the door open because when it is closed, it's one more thing between them and a new enemy.

The sob pushes through her coughing. She falls apart, crying and coughing and hiccupping when she can't catch her breath, and no matter what she tells herself, she can't regain control over the noise. It has been far too long since the last time she had properly cried. A hard knot in her chest, one she is so used to she hardly even notices it anymore, softens and splinters a little more with each loud, snotty sob.

Natsu simply holds her close, his breathing uneven but his heartbeat a strong, steady rhythm that thrums in his chest. She listens to it even as her entire body shakes with her sobs and pretends that they are in her apartment, in her bed, warm and safe. She doesn't bother thinking of blankets; she doubts she will ever sleep under one again.

His lips are hot against her forehead as he presses a careful, open kiss just below her hairline. She squirms to get closer to him, rounding out her back to leave Happy some room. Maybe before she would have been a little shier about personal space, but with everything that has happened, she doesn't care. She doesn't want to let go of her partner ever again because even though she knows that she's the only fighter between them right now, she feels safer when he is close. His warmth soothes her pain and melts her fear.

It is selfish of her, considering how it was her many shortcomings that had landed them in this mess, but she can't bring herself to care.

When Happy wakes up, her tears are dry and replaced by quiet, slightly hoarse sniffing. He stretches with a luxurious yawn and scrapes his claws against the tile. Alerted by the unexpected noise, he blinks and shoots upwards, his wings snapping open. A lone feather drifts to the floor. She watches it as it dances on the meager wind their breaths provide before sliding to a soundless halt. The feather is white, like the tile floor, but she would never miss it. It is so much cleaner and whiter than the tiles.

Happy grins sheepishly, realizing that they are still alone, and rubs his eyes.

"Good morning," she rasps teasingly, surprising even herself. "Got your beauty sleep?"

Next to her, her partner smiles. It is small, barely there and quickly fading, but he smiles. Happiness settles in her chest as a weightless cloud that clears her mind and lends a few drops of strength to her limbs. She looks at him and smiles in return. Her sniffles and tears are gone. She knows that they have to get up and leave before their enemy changes his mind or another enemy finds them. They are in no shape to defend themselves and they need to find a new location that isn't as open.

They need to hide until they can plan their next move.

To do that, they have to get up.

Happy opens his mouth to retort. She loosens her partner's grip and lay flat on her back. Her arms bend at the elbow and she curls her fingers. Happy blinks, closes his mouth, and grabs her fingers with his paws. It takes two hard motions with his wings to get to a sitting position and another three to lift her to her feet.

The room sways. Happy lets go and she nearly falls. Suddenly, there isn't a single part of her that isn't pulsing with white-hot pain and her head is pounding hard enough to crack her skull in half. She clenches her teeth as she stumbles. Once she has her footing, she helps Happy with her partner. He moves sluggishly, heavily, almost as though he is swimming. With his arm around her shoulders, they take the slow steps they can manage towards the hole that is the door.

She decides to turn right, away from the glass arena with the copper frames and rows of seats covered in red velvet. She is fairly certain the hallway ends at the glass door that opens to reveal a circle of rough, unremarkable cement and even if there is something else that she hadn't noticed, she doesn't want to go near that place again. She doesn't want to remember everything she has done in that arena, where the only way to pass through the glass doors against was to be the last one standing.

Happy offers to help, but she says no. If something goes wrong, she needs him at full strength to get her partner out alive. She sends him to scout instead.

"Where we goin'?" her partner mumbles. She peeks around the third corner, blinking sweat from her eyes, and frowns at the slur in his words.

"You okay?" she rasps. He opens his mouth to say something but only groans. His grip on her shirt goes slack as he doubles over and she tries to catch him before he falls. Her palm presses against his stomach to hold him up while her other arm wraps around his chest, using his armpits to keep him off the ground. Her back and legs scream. It takes three breaths for a fiery burn to spread through her stomach and thighs.

But she only truly regrets sending Happy away when her partner's eyes squeeze shut and his face drains of what little color it has. A low, pain-filled groan slips out of his mouth. The palm against his stomach suddenly feels warm and wet and she moves it higher without thinking. Her partner hisses softly. Tension flees from his body and his eyes roll back. He slumps against her, barely breathing, and it's all she can do to not scream in fear.

Tears prick at her eyes as she struggles to maneuver him onto her back. Something sticky soaks through her shirt. She ignores her hip and back yet again to lean forward so that her partner doesn't fall and covers the hallway in short, shaky steps. Every few moments she pauses to listen for his breathing. It is so soft and quiet that she barely feels it against her cheek and she is terrified that he will stop breathing and she won't notice.

She doesn't know what to do if he stops breathing.

"Almost there," she whispers. "Almost there, Natsu. Hold on."

There is no truth in her words, but she tries to take comfort in them anyways. She needs to have something to look forward to. As bleak and vague as the idea may be, a destination where they can rest is all she wants.

Her partner's breath hitches. She stumbles on a nick in the tile and fights to keep them upright, holding her breath in fear of missing his. When he exhales, she sighs in relief and adjusts her grip on his knees. His fingers twitch and grab a weak fistful of her clothes. She smiles at the small movement even as his fingers relax, hoping that it means he is waking up.

Happy flies around the corner in a smooth arc and skids to a stop mere inches from her face, squeaking an apology. She shrugs it off and takes another step, then another. She is one her fifth step when he finally speaks.

"I don't think anyone's here yet," Happy says, "but I didn't see a way out either. Sorry."

She shakes her head. "That's okay. Is there anywhere we can lay low for a while? A small room?"

"Part of the place caved in. We could probably find a cave or something." He pauses, then, "Is Natsu okay?"

"Yeah. He's just tired," she says, her voice strong enough to push past the pain in her throat without too much of a rasp. Happy glances at her partner, his eyes uneasy, and nods. He doesn't believe her.

She can't blame him, not when she doesn't believe herself.

"You still want me to search?"

"No, Happy. It's okay. Stay close."

"Aye."

She repeats his words in her head to make sure she doesn't miss anything and pauses halfway through. A cave-in could mean many things. Most of them would only work against her and almost all of them could kill her.

"Caved in how badly?" she asks.

"I can't get through. There's a bunch of big rocks and dirt everywhere." Happy closes his wings and drops to the floor, walking beside her. "I think I saw a chair, too. A big poofy one."

She raises her face to the ceiling. It looks to be made of wood, but when she squints, she can make out lines of grey stone. A new fear sparks at the back of her mind. If the ceiling comes down on them, there is nothing she can do.

She should have known that they ceiling was made of stone.

"Are we underground?"

"I think so," Happy says. The fear she hides is reflected in his voice. "What if—"

"Don't think like that, Happy," she says sternly. "If we believe it will hold, it will."

He sniffs. "How does that work?"

"It was mom's idea. I used to be afraid of the dark, so I always slept with the lights on. When father said I had to turn them off, she would bring a candle and say that if I believed the shadows were my friends, they would be."

"But you don't know that it'll work here."

"It's worked so far." She tries to smile for him. "I always believe that our family will win, and we always do."

Happy nods and returns her smile. "Okay. What are you believing in now?"

"I believe that we'll get out of here together and alive. We planned to go fishing, remember?"

"Yeah. I want to catch a big fish!"

She chuckles, suppressing a wince as the sound jars her throat. "That's right. Natsu caught the biggest fish last time."

"And he ate it, too. All by himself."

"He did, didn't he. How rude of him. What if you gave your fish to Charla?"

"You think she'd like it?" He is smiling as he talks and she breathes a small sigh. It is good for him to focus on something better, something happier.

"It's hard to resist a really good catch, even if you don't like fish," she says.

They turn another corner and any smile she may have had slips off her face. Despite Happy's warning, she isn't prepared to face a wall of massive stone blocks and she isn't ready for the little flecks of burgundy that look like blood. The rest of the hall is only a dead end, framed by wooden walls and the mess of the cave-in. The chair Happy mentioned is a broken wreck between two slabs of polished wood. Its cushions are large and bare, their stuffing spilling out in a mound of yellow, and for a moment she hopes that the burgundy is only fabric and not blood.

"Wait, what about the cow man? Or Virgo? They could—" Happy begins, excited and eager, but she cuts him off.

"I don't have my keys, Happy."

It hurts to admit that she wasn't strong enough to hold onto her keys, but she knows that they would not have been left behind. If their enemy was smart enough to conceal his operation with a cave-in, he would not have left hey keys for her to find. There is a slim chance that their enemy does not want Fairy Tail to come after him for a ring of keys, that they have only been hidden and not taken, but she places no hope in the idea. Even if her keys are still here, she has to get Natsu out first. She doesn't know what the magic from the punishments is doing to him and she is afraid that if she doesn't hurry, he might stop breathing.

Just like she doesn't know how to make a heart stop beating, she doesn't know how to make it start or how to keep it going.

"Oh." Happy deflates, his face falling with the weight of his apology. "Sorry. You want me to look for them?"

"He wouldn't have left them here. He would've taken them with him so I'd have to find him again," she says. Her body throbs in complaint and she relents, gently sliding her partner off her back and laying him flat on the ground. His eyebrows furrow and his fingers clench, but otherwise he doesn't move.

"But he can't use them, so why did he take them?" Happy asks, walking around to stand by her partner's head.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter as it leaves her mouth. "Help me search."

She knows exactly why, even if she is not sure of the true motive behind her enemy's actions. Her enemy had sworn to mold her into something different, something stronger and harder, and he had promised that he would go to great lengths to achieve his goal. He had told her, his breath a white cloud on the glass between them, that he would make her earn her place among the stars.

* * *

 **Once again, please review!**

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 **BrennaCoris - yeah, we decided on present tense cause it seemed to add urgency to the overall feels. We didn't expect anyone to notice ;)**

 **Forbidden-Hanyou - really glad you like it!**

 **idevourbooks - thank you!**

 **ThatOneFriend3 - glad to see you like it! It's been interesting writing it up so far, and we're not sure how far we're going to take it, but we hope you stick around!**

 **CloudySkies2208 - we decided to focus more on the aftermath rather than the actual event, which you could almost call the healing. We think it's safe to say it was a sort of underground fight, but that should be developed further in later chappies. Glad you love it!**

 **Guest - working on the length as we type!**

 **lady lutka - glad you fell so quickly! see you around!**


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